The Incident
by juna-starrider
Summary: Borormir and Faramir realize their differences in opinion when they find themselves alone in the throne room.


This little ditty was inspired by a small line in the second book, where Faramir tells Frodo about his brother's thirst for power.

It was late into the harvest season when the "incident" happened. The last of the apples had been plucked from the groves south of Minas Tirith and the vegetables were starting to be persevered by the women of the various villages. In the air, there was a sense of contentment, brought on by an exceptionally good harvest. It almost, but not quite, kept people's minds off the growing shadow in the east. Of course, this was many years before the War Of The Ring, but even then, there was worry over what was over the mountains in the land of ......Mordor.... let us not speak of that name, for this tale has a different subject.

It involves two brothers; the eldest being 14, a naive yet independent age, and the other 9, an age just starting to understand how the world works. It also involves three thousand years of history and tradition, but we shall not delve too deep into that subject.

The weather was unseasonably warm, when these two brothers had been sent out to play. They only wore their usual clothes and velvet cloaks. For these two boys were no ordinary boys, they were the Denethor, the Ruling Steward's sons. Both enjoyed the last of the warm weather by doing what all siblings do, wrestling. Of course the odds were weighed heavily in Boromir's, favor, him being the eldest; but it seemed to the casual viewer that half the time Faramir wound up pinning his brother to the ground. I cannot say whether Boromir actually lost on purpose, for Faramir was a quick little fellow and could get himself out of a headlock easily. After a while the brothers got bored, like all children do. They had played outside all summer and were in fact, out of ideas of what to do.

"Let's go inside, perhaps Papa has finished with his council meeting," gasped Boromir, while being trapped in a unusually strong headlock, "maybe he will take us out for a ride"

"Please don't use that as a excuse to get out of losing this match, Boromir," Faramir replied through gritted teeth, straining to keep his hold on his brothers neck, "just because you can't bear to lose, doesn't mean you can call off the match when you think your about to be beaten"

"Let go" rasped Boromir

"Not until you say I've won" Faramir said in a sing-song voice.

"You won" whispered the eldest.

"I can't hear you,"

"You Won!"

"Still can't hear you"

"YOU WON!"

"That's better," Faramir said as he released his brother's neck and wiped the sweat off his face, "so, shall we go now?"

"As soon as I can breathe without sounding like an angry pig," came the reply from Boromir.

"Well then, you obviously haven't heard yourself sleeping at night," shot Faramir, with a smirk on his face.

"Why you little....." growled Boromir as he lunged at his brother. Faramir barely got out of the way and sped down the hall toward the throne room, Boromir running after him, still sounding like an angry boar.

Boromir reached Faramir just as they had passed through the gigantic wooden doors opened into the throne room. He didn't tackle him though, not because there were people around, but because no one was there. No guards, no servants, and no nobles. It was the noon hour, in which most people were resting from the morning's work. Both brothers stood in awe at the silent white walls that seemed to merge with the sky. They were so used to the usual hustle of nobles and documents in this place that it seemed quite odd, even frightening, to hear or see nobody.

"Maybe we should go back outside," suggested Faramir, automatically sensing a rule about to be broken. He had seen the growing grin on his brother's face, and he knew what that meant.

"Why? Do you know what we can do now that there is no one here? We can sit on the King's Throne, instead of that tiny steward's chair. Come on Fara, this is a thing I have always wanted to do." There was a flash in his eyes that worried the younger son; a hunger, not for food, but for something that Faramir didn't understand yet.

"Boromir, I do not think that is a good idea, the law says that it is forbbi-."

"I care not what the law says, brother, those archaic rules were thought up by men a thousand years ago. They certainly do not apply to today's people". He walked up to the throne, climbed the marble steps, and without missing a beat, plopped himself on the cushion.

Faramir watched in horror as his brother broke every rule he had been taught. He shuddered, certain that some punishment would come from the Gods, such as lightning, and strike his brother dead. He looked left and right, desperate that someone would come in and stop his brother before the great catastrophe happened.

"Boromir, get dow-," he cut himself of in shock. Boromir had gotten off the throne, but now he held both the Crown and the Scepter of the King. Faramir knew that this act meant that Boromir was symbolically making himself King. And by law, anyone who was not in direct line to the King was a traitor and was to be sentenced to death.

Faramir looked helplessly at his brother and saw the same look in his eyes. He suddenly realized what he saw. Power. Power in it's unadulterated form. He unconsciously stepped back, awed by his brother, who seemed a king of forty years old, instead of a lad of fourteen.

"Would it not be great, Fara, if instead of waiting for some nonexistent 'King' to claim power of our city, to have the Stewards come into what is rightfully ours. Have we not kept this city in order, defending our people from the East and the South? Did we not create the Alliance between Gondor and Rohan? And yet, if this King comes, we will give up all we done and expect no thanks for our service? Nay Faramir, I will not see our line of people be like the stalks of wheat, after protecting the kernels all summer, be thrown away to be food for cattle! We MUST become who we were meant to be and take what is ours. Do you understand that, brother?"

Faramir did not answer his brother's query, for he was afraid that he would answer foolishly. A few minutes ago, he had his brother by the neck, and now he was too frightened to even speak to Boromir.

He need no have worried, because then, a rumble of voices came from behind the southern doors, signaling, the resumption of his father's meetings. The doors opened and in came the Denethor with his entourage of councillors and servants. Denethor looked at Faramir cooly, and then looked toward the King's Throne. He, as well as all who were with him, froze and stared at the Stewards heir. He was still sitting on the throne, the Crown in one hand and the Scepter in the other.

The Steward then did something he had never done in public, he lost his temper. He leapt onto the throne in one bound, snatched both of the royal symbols, and grabbed Boromir by the back of the neck in the same manner that a mother cat would carry her kitten. He then dragged Boromir to the northern doors, kicked them open, threw Boromir out, followed, and slammed the doors with a ominous boom.

For a half a minute, there was a silence that could have frozen a Balrog's blood. After that everyone started moving as if nothing has happened. Only little Faramir was still in a daze. He was actually thankful that his father was probably yelling at Boromir. It was better than being punished by the Gods. He made his way to the second floor to his bedroom, certain that he would be punched as well. After all, this was a very serious crime.

In the North Courtyard Boromir was forced onto a stone bench by his father's powerful arms. There was a minute of tense silence between them both. Finally, Boromir spoke.

"But father, it has been a thousand years since the stewards took power, should it now be our time to become Kings?" His voice now sounded more like a whining child's now, and had lost it's sense of charisma.

"Not even in a ten-thousand years time can we claim Kingship over Gondor," came the harsh reply of his father, "we are sworn to a duty which we must keep _until the King returns. _You will understand in time, my son, that power is not a s great as you may think it is. The greater the power, the greater the responsibility."

Boromir sat on the stone bench, rubbing the back of his neck. He was beaten and he knew it. You could not argue with the Steward and win, not even if he was your father.

Boromir stood up from the bench and said "I do not agree with your thinking, but I will accept your opinion. May be excused?"

"You may" replied Denethor, and then his voice darkened considerably," but if I ever see you do something like that again, you need not trouble yourself of even reaching the age of twenty, let alone being King.

Boromir, walked until he was out of sight of his father, and than ran as fast as the north wind to his and Faramir's bedroom. He did not want to admit it, but he had never been so scared of his father. He slammed the bedroom door behind him and locked it.

"Boromir?" came a voice that nearly made Boromir wet himself in fright, "is he coming?"

"No Fara, he is not coming," he replied in relief after realizing it was just his brother hiding under some cushions, "and even if he was, I doubt he would be angry at you. I don't even think he remembers seeing you," then seeing that reassurance alone would not calm both his and Faramir's nerves spoke up, " do you want to wrestle? I'll play fair this time"

"Promise?" piped Faramir, his face brightening up instantly.

"I promise" assured Boromir, "that is, if you can even get me down." Faramir lunged at him with yell and so the day ended on a high note.

Although it seemed like a small incident at the time, it molded both of these brothers, and perhaps, changed the fate of the world.

Thanks to Animagus-Spirit for a well-timed compliment that spurred me to write again. Also thank you to Angel for pissing me off so I would spend 4 hours pounding the keyboard. (I have a weird sense of adrenalin )


End file.
